Into My Arms
by r4ven3
Summary: Completely AU, 7 chapters and an epilogue of post-Ruth's-return-S.8 Harry and Ruth. This story takes place completely off Grid, with no plot to speak of. Written around 5 months ago, I had shelved it, but ... here it is. The title is derived from the Nick Cave song.
1. Chapter 1

_So keep your candles burning  
And make her journey bright and pure  
That she will keep returning  
Always and evermore_

Into my arms, O Lord  
Into my arms, O Lord  
Into my arms, O Lord  
Into my arms

Nick Cave, from _Into My Arms_.

* * *

_**A/N: This fic is pure fluff – and some angst for balance. I wrote it around 4-5 months ago, and it's been just sitting around. It is (yet another) Harry and Ruth love story, with no plot, and it's (almost) like MI-5 does not exist. Rated T, although there are M-ish chapters.**_

* * *

She has chosen to live in a sleepy village outside Norwich. It was enough to find the name of the village. To have searched and then found her address would seem to Harry like an invasion of her privacy. He has booked a room in the hotel for four days, with the option of extending should he wish. It is too early for the summer holidays, and too late for Christmas and New Year. This time of year – the time when spring has begun on the calendar, but the weather itself has not yet decided in which direction it will swing – is a time when terrorists are planning their next move, but rarely carrying it out.

He'd told himself that he couldn't stay on the Grid another day, but he did. He'd dragged his body to his office, and to countless meetings, but on resting his head on his pillow each night, the reality still hurt …... Jo Portman was dead, Ros Myers was traumatised, given it was a bullet from her gun which had killed Jo, and Ruth had left London, perhaps forever. She hadn't wanted to join her old team, and for that he can't blame her.

"Too much has happened, Harry," she'd said at their last meeting, by the Thames embankment. "I need to get out of London for a while. I need to think. I can't simply step back into the life I left behind almost three years ago."

And he'd stood by and said nothing while she packed her few belongings, and left London - to where, he knew not. He's not proud of himself, but he'd asked Tariq Masood, newly appointed technical expert, and Malcolm's replacement, to look for Ruth.

"I have some things of hers which she might need, and she hasn't left a forwarding address."

All he had were her cats. They hadn't talked about the cats, but he supposes that when she's settled somewhere, she'll need company …... of the feline variety. He cannot ever be certain she'll want to see him …... not after everything that has happened.

* * *

The hotel is rustic, but comfortable, and his room overlooks the village square, from which radiate five roads. On his first morning there, Harry sits at his window and watches the villagers going about their day. He is about to turn and leave, when he sees her …... he is certain it is Ruth. The woman wears a dark coat, her brown hair falling in waves to her shoulders. She carries a basket, and disappears inside the co-op store. As much as he wants to leave the hotel, and follow her into the store, he doesn't. He sits for another twenty minutes, and then watches her leave, walking along the road which heads west. As she walks towards the hotel, he can see by her face that it isn't Ruth. This woman's face is rounder, and she has brown eyes. He sighs heavily, feeling the weight of her loss all over again.

Harry has no plan. He is hoping that they will run into one another somewhere in the village. _Not while I'm sitting in my hotel room, we won't_.

The next morning – Saturday – he is wandering through the small boutique off license next to the co-op store, searching for some wine to take back to London. He is enthralled by the labels on the wine bottles from all over the world. He has only just decided to buy a half dozen each of the Spanish merlot, the Californian cabernet sauvignon, the Australian chardonnay, and the New Zealand Pinot Noir, when he hears his name.

"Harry?"

It is she. He turns suddenly, shocked that he has met her in the store amongst the wines. Why would she be here?

"I saw you, and I followed you in here," she continues, her face a question. She looks at the bottle he is holding in his hand. "You have expensive tastes, Harry."

"I like good wine." He looks at her face before he continues speaking. "But good wine is always more enjoyable with company."

"You've followed me here."

"I didn't exactly …... follow you, Ruth. I -"

"So you happen to be in the very same small and out-of-the-way village where I've decided to spend a few months. That's no coincidence."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I suppose you've been hanging around outside my cottage at night, waiting for me to notice you."

"I don't know where you live. I only had Tariq tell me the name of the town."

"You had someone _search_ for me?" Ruth's voice is raised slightly, her eyes a flinty grey.

All Harry can hope for now is that she won't storm off, leaving him standing alone in the international wines aisle.

"I really needed to see you, Ruth. To talk to you."

They stand there, each looking at the other, waiting for something to change. It is then that Harry notices Ruth is carrying two string bags bursting with groceries. He steps closer to her, and reaches for her bags.

"Here, let me take those," he says. "They look heavy."

She surprises him by allowing him to take the bags from her.

"How far away do you live? I'll carry these home for you."

She smiles into his eyes, and her whole face softens, before she leads him out of the store, past the square, and down a narrow lane which leads off the Great Yarmouth road.

"I'm renting a cottage down here," she explains, as Harry walks beside her in silence.

"Until?"

"Until?" Ruth turns through a gate in a hedge, behind which is revealled a small, neat cottage. She busies herself opening the front door with her key, while Harry waits to be invited in.

"Until what, Ruth …... how long are you planning to stay here?"

"Until I know what I want to do next."

Harry is standing in her cottage kitchen, when she indicates he should place the bags on one end of the table. "I should go," he says, not sure what is expected of him, now he has delivered home her shopping.

"Why? Is there somewhere you have to be?"

Harry shakes his head.

"And didn't you travel here – to this village – with the intention of seeing me?"

Harry nods his head slowly.

"Then make us a pot of tea while I put away the shopping. The stuff for tea-making is all on that bench near the electric kettle."

So Harry makes himself useful, and brews a pot of tea, placing the pot, two mugs, sugar, milk from the fridge, and spoons from a drawer, on the table. They then sit opposite one another, while Ruth pours their tea.

They are silent for some time, until Ruth begins speaking.

"I'm not altogether happy about you looking for me and finding me, Harry. You were one of the reasons I had to get out of London."

"I thought that it was because of …... how George died."

Harry internally kicks himself.

"That, yes, and other things. You probably think that I'm angry with you, Harry, and I was." Ruth hesitates, not looking at him. "The most confronting thing for me has been the realisation that …..."

Harry looks at her, his face a question. "What, Ruth?"

"The realisation that I still feel …... something …... for you …... something quite powerful."

Internally, Harry feels his stomach tip and turn. Can it be true? Does she really still care for him? After everything that has happened, how can that be? He watches her as she struggles to find the right words. He then realises that he's been holding his breath.

"I came here, in this out-of-the-way place, in part to get away from you, but I can't help missing you …... and now …... here you are. When I saw you …... entering the off license …... I planned to tell you to go back to London and leave me alone ….."

"But you didn't."

"No, I couldn't. Despite myself, I was …... thrilled …... to see you." Ruth looks up at him then, and gives him a slight smile. "The best laid plans ..."

" …... of mice and men," he whispers. Harry is elated. He may have dreamed of Ruth saying something like she just has, but he never expected it …... not in a thousand years …... but it isn't yet the time for a happy reunion. "Ruth," he says quietly, his eyes on hers, his hands cupping his mug of tea, "I came here to tell you something. I've thought this over, and I don't wish to be the bearer of bad news, but …..."

"What is it, Harry? Are you unwell? Don't tell me you're sick. I couldn't bear -"

"It's not me, Ruth. It's Jo. I have some bad news about Jo."

It is then that Harry tells her about the siege in the panic room under the hotel where the group of businessmen were meeting. Harry speaks dispassionately, because were he to not, he is afraid he'll break down, and he doesn't wish to do that …... not in front of Ruth. He speaks of how he ordered Jo to go down into the panic room to help out Ros, and how Ros had had to make the call no-one should ever be expected to make.

"And Jo?"

"She died, Ruth. Jo died."

"When did this happen?"

"Three weeks ago. I …... I've taken leave. I suppose you could call it stress leave. I've taken a month off …... beginning yesterday."

"You came here to tell me that?"

"No. I came here because I needed to see you …... to remind myself why it is I do what I do, and to …... to decide if I wish to keep doing it."

Harry stops speaking, and watches Ruth. She is beginning to twist her hands nervously, and her eyes are filling. He knows those signs. Without thinking too much, Harry puts down his mug of tea, and walks around the table to Ruth's side. He reaches out to her, and grasps her hand in his, pulling her out of her chair to stand in front of him. With both his arms, he draws her close, and holds her steadily against his body. This is not an act motivated by lust or desire, but one of compassion and caring, and fortunately, Ruth is able to detect the difference. At this moment, when he has offered her comfort, he is not thinking of how much he wants her. He is offering her a safe place to be, and as she crumples against him, letting her tears fall freely, she willingly accepts the comfort he offers.

They stand in the kitchen of Ruth's rented cottage for some time – Ruth leaning against Harry, her face pressed into his shoulder, her hands grasping his jacket, while his arms are wrapped around her, holding her while she sobs. There comes a moment when Ruth's crying becomes louder and more distressed, but Harry realises that she is crying for so much more than the loss of Jo. Harry understands that. He doesn't know what to say to her to make her feel better. All he has is his love for her, and his strong arms. He hopes that is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks later:

Just a few miles north of Mablethorpe, in Lincolnshire, Harry walks alone along the sand dune which runs parallel to the North Sea. The wind off the sea is cold, biting the skin of his face, the only skin not covered by clothing. In his head, Harry calls the air bracing, but he'll be glad when he reaches the cottage he has rented on a short term lease. He finds that the exercise helps him forget his mistakes, both at work, and in his personal life.

He looks out to sea, and sees the glint of the sun on the surface of the sea, itself as grey as week-old dishwater. It is the first time the sun has been out in the three weeks he's been staying there. He hopes this is a sign that things are about to change …... to improve, hopefully …... in his life.

When, on his first visit to Ruth in her cottage, her tears had subsided, she'd still clung to him, and then when she realised that she was grasping his coat tightly in her fingers, she'd quickly pulled away from him, clearly embarrassed.

"It's alright, Ruth," he'd said.

"It's not alright. I shouldn't be blubbering into your shoulder."

"Where else would you do it?"

"It's not fair for me to be offloading my troubles on to you."

"But Ruth …..."

She'd turned away from him then, busying herself with the tea things, and nothing he said had changed her mind. As she saw it, she had acted inappropriately. She'd asked him to leave, and he'd reluctantly left.

"It's just until I have my head straight, Harry. It won't be forever."

He'd visited Ruth only once more after he'd held her close to him in her kitchen that day, and that had been to tell her he planned to go away for a few weeks. It had been a very quick visit; it had been clear Ruth had not wanted him there.

As he'd walked away from her that second time, he'd turned back to look at her one last time, burning the image of her into his brain before he left her to her grieving and her guilt. Were he being honest with himself, he had enough guilt and grief of his own to fill the days ahead of him.

So it is with some degree of apprehension that, as he approaches his lonely little rental cottage, he notices a car parked next to his own, and the car's driver sitting on the bonnet, waiting for him. Even from a distance, he can see that the person is female, and that her hair, mostly tucked under the hood of her navy blue anorak, is dark brown. Harry increases his speed, and drops his eyes for a moment, trying hard to suppress the smile which tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pushes his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket while he trudges the remaining two hundred yards to the cottage.

As he gets closer, she slides off the car's bonnet, and slowly walks towards him.

"Hi," he says, letting his smile free.

"Hi. I hope you don't mind …..."

"I'm glad you're here," he says, taking his hands from his pockets, and then leaving them dangling by his sides. He wants to hug her, but he'll wait for her to give him the right signals. She is standing a yard or two away, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her anorak – hardly an invitation for hugging.

"You were not difficult to find, Harry."

He smiles at her, and then looks down, scuffing the toe of his boot into the hard soil. "I ….. I wasn't trying to hide from you …... or from anyone, although I was hoping you'd come. I haven't seen anyone for ….."

"For weeks?"

He nods, and then lifts his arm towards the cottage. "Are you staying? Would you like to come in?"

She steps closer to him then. "I didn't come all this way for a quick conversation in the driveway."

He unlocks the front door and leads her inside. The front door opens straight into a wide, open plan area which includes a living room, dining area, and kitchen. Leading off this area are several doors, and a small staircase which leads to an attic room.

"This is cosy," Ruth comments, looking around, while Harry attends to the combustion stove, stacking more wood into it from the basket of wood on the hearth.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Ruth? Something stronger?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you."

They sit at the table – only big enough to seat four – and drink their tea. Their conversation drips out in phrases and unfinished sentences, as is their way. Ruth tells him she's worked out a few things about her life, and he assures her that he has also. Neither is yet able to fully open up to the other.

"How long can you stay, Ruth?"

She looks up at him in surprise. She hasn't thought much beyond the moment, but she has hoped he would ask her to stay.

"I …... I have plenty of time. I have no work to go to, and the rent on my cottage is paid until the end of September."

"The service paid your rent?"

"They paid me compensation …... for what happened to George. I sent a large proportion of it to Cyprus, but George's sister sent it all back. I was upset when she did that, but I also understand why ….."

"So, you have no need to work."

"I'd like to work, but I'm not ready. I loved my work, Harry, but I can't …... not yet."

"I know what you mean. I'm feeling the same way. I'm due back in seven days, but I don't think I can. Not yet. I'm planning to ring the DG tomorrow. If he wants a doctor's certificate, then I'll get one."

"Be careful, Harry. He might replace you with some young fellow who does everything exactly by the book."

"You know …... right now I don't care. I'm quite happy here …... with you." Harry lifts his eyes to Ruth's, and is glad that she is looking right into his own eyes.

And so they talk, about their jobs, and about the guilt they each still carry – about the uranium, George's death, Nico, and eventually, about Jo. By the time their conversation runs dry, the sun has already set, and both are hungry.

"I brought some ready-made meals, just in case you've been living on bread and cheese."

"It's not your job to feed me, Ruth. I _can_ cook, you know."

"They're just what I picked up from Sainsbury's in Norwich. Delia Smith, I'm not."

Harry holds in his mental reply …... _No, Ruth, you're more Nigella_.

"Harry …... I also brought my things with me …... just in case I can stay."

"You can stay as long as you want, Ruth. Besides, I'd not let you drive off in the dark."

He can see by her face that she is about to challenge that statement, but then thinks better of it. While she goes out to her rental car to get her bags, he adds more wood to the stove, and turns on the lights in the kitchen and the living area. He and Ruth had been sitting at the table in the dark.

"Where's the spare room, Harry?" Ruth says, standing in the living room with her hold-all in one hand, and two Sainsbury's bags in the other.

"Here, let me help you," he says, striding across the room to take the supermarket bags. It is then that the words `spare room' hit him. He stands in front of her, holding her shopping, suddenly unable to answer her simple question. He notices her eyes on his, a small smile on her face.

"Jesus, Ruth, I forgot. There is only one bedroom in this place."

"No spare room?"

"No, sorry. I think that the attic is meant to be a guest room, but it's full of the owner's junk …... you know, fishing gear, and sleeping bags and tents. I'll sleep on the sofa in here. I fell asleep there a few times when I first arrived. It's not too bad."

Ruth stares at the sofa, as if seeing it for the first time. "You'll do no such thing, Harry," she says, putting her hold-all on the floor. "I'm smaller than you. _I'll_ sleep on the sofa."

"But, Ruth -"

"There will be no more discussion about this, Harry. I can't throw you out of your own bed. Why didn't you warn me this cottage only has one bedroom?"

"I forgot." Even to his own ears, his answer sounds lame, but he _had_ forgotten …... completely. Perhaps, were he being totally honest with himself, he'd hoped Ruth might opt to share his bed.

"I'll change in the bathroom …... I trust you have one of those."

Harry then shows Ruth around the cottage – the bathroom, the utilities room and storage room, the kitchen, and lastly, his own bedroom.

"That's a big bed," Ruth comments, and then she drops her eyes, visibly embarrassed.

"That's why I'd feel happier if you slept here, Ruth."

"No. It's your bed. You must have it."

After dinner, they sit on the sofa, side by side, and enjoy a few glasses of wine. Ruth had noticed his considerable stock of wine and whiskey on the storage shelves in the utilities room. They talk little, but being Ruth and Harry, they so often have little need for words.

When they are ready for bed, Harry stacks the stove with fresh wood, while Ruth uses the bathroom, and then when she returns, it is his turn in the bathroom. Harry has left Ruth some towels, sheets, two pillows, and a single duvet, and once they say an awkward goodnight, she makes herself a temporary bed on the sofa, and then climbs underneath the duvet. She is comfortable and warm, and she quickly falls asleep.

In the adjoining bedroom, Harry remains awake until the small hours. Normally he can fall asleep almost on command, but he is aware that Ruth is only a few yards away from where he lies, his body yearning for her, his flesh ready. He has a mad moment when he wonders how Ruth would react were he to go into her, asking her to join him in his bed. Fortunately for his relationship with Ruth, he doesn't carry this out, but it is almost two o'clock before he gives in to fatigue.

* * *

Harry is woken by Ruth moving about the cottage. He lies under the duvet, listening to her movements. He hears her opening the bathroom door, and then he listens to the toilet flushing, and a short time later, the water hissing through the pipes, as she runs the shower. He has to block out the mental image of her standing naked under the shower. It is not helpful at all. Then he is sure he hears her voice as she sings. He closes his eyes, allowing his hands to wander under the waistband of his track pants, while he imagines her silently entering his room, and sliding into bed with him. It is a while since he's been this aroused, so he very slowly and carefully begins stroking himself, all the while imagining Ruth's hands on him.

He is fully immersed in his imaginary world, where Ruth is taking her time bringing him to climax, her small hands gently stroking his flesh, when he hears a knock on his bedroom door.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

_Jesus, that was a close one._ Harry quickly removes his hand from inside his pants, and rolls on to his stomach, before he calls out a sleepy `yes'. He hears the door opening slowly, and Ruth continues from the doorway.

"I'm making us breakfast," she says quietly, the sound of her voice doing nothing to kill Harry's desire for her. "You have time for a shower before I finish cooking. We're having sausages and eggs. Then I thought we could go for a walk to the beach. It's a lovely day."

Very slowly, Harry turns so that his eyes meet Ruth's. Her smile has him feeling warm all over, and he smiles back. "I'll shower first," he manages to say.

When she closes the door, and he hears her moving about the kitchen, he again rolls on to his back and sighs. Something is going to have to change. Either he should find a way to suppress his libido, or he needs to coax Ruth into his bed. Naturally, he'd prefer the latter, but either will do.


	3. Chapter 3

They take a long walk along the sand dunes above the beach, heading in a northerly direction, away from Mablethorpe. Surprisingly, there are a few people out doing the same thing. The sun hiding behind light fluffy clouds has lifted people's spirits, and so some are browsing the shale for treasures, while others – like Ruth and Harry – walk briskly along the sand dunes.

Harry and Ruth speak little until after they meet another couple, who stop and talk to them. The other couple are middle-aged, married, and relaxed with one another – her hand slipped through his arm - and they assume that Ruth and Harry are married also.

"We need a legend, Harry," Ruth says, as they walk away from the other couple after a ten minute conversation.

"I know. I've kept to myself these past weeks, and I've not made eye contact while out walking. Who do you think we should be?"

"You introduced us as James and Ruth. All we need is a last name."

"The same one?"

Ruth stops, and turns to look at him. "The same as what, Harry?"

"Do we share a surname? You know, should we pretend to be married?"

"Harry Pearce, you're blushing."

He looks away from her, remembering his clandestine activity that morning after he'd woken. Now, they're about to pretend they're married. Does she have _any_ idea of how difficult this is becoming?

Harry looks back at her, trying to keep a straight face. "We need a name, Ruth …... the same name, otherwise it might be a bit difficult to explain why we're living under the same roof."

"We could be a modern couple, and I could have kept my own name."

"Then there'd be two names to remember."

"Okay, so why don't we use the name you used on your lease for the cottage?"

"Which I'm assuming you know, given that you found me," he says, smiling.

"Hunter. Is that a tribute to Danny, or a tip of your cap to what it is you do for a living?"

"It's both, Ruth. It seemed appropriate at the time."

"So," Ruth says, walking on ahead of him, so that he has to hurry to keep up, "we're Mr and Mrs James Hunter. What do we do for a living?"

"I'm a property developer, and you're …... what do you want to be, Ruth?"

Ruth stops suddenly, and looks down at the ground beneath her feet. "I want to be free, Harry. I want to no longer feel that everyone I love, everyone I care for, will inevitably meet a sticky end. If I can love freely, without worrying that I'll somehow hurt the people I love the most, then that will be enough for me."

They keep walking slowly, each lost in their own private thoughts.

Ruth is wondering has Harry yet caught on that she loves him, but can't truly love him until she is certain that by loving him openly, his life won't be in danger.

Harry is wondering at Ruth's use of the words: `the people I love the most', and whether this includes him. He really hopes it does. He couldn't bear it if it didn't.

* * *

Later in the day, they drive into Mablethorpe, and wander through the streets until they reach the large mounds which run parallel to the sea, blocking the view of the ocean.

"They have dykes here?" Ruth comments, gazing the length of the man-made structures.

"The term `dyke' is no longer used …. for reasons I'm sure you can figure out for yourself. They're now called seawalls. They -"

"Hold back the sea. Is this the place which flooded eons ago?"

"Yes, it was, and it wasn't eons. It happened the year I was born …... or more correctly, before I was born."

"That was still …... a little while ago, then."

"I suppose so." Harry is aware Ruth is teasing him, and he rather likes it. He'd bought them each an icecream, and they are heading towards the park and thence through to the beach. "My mum told me that the flood-waters reached as far as two miles inland."

"I just think it's a pity that we can't see the sea from the town."

Harry looks down at her, bobbing along beside him, taking in everything with those intelligent eyes of hers. When they reach the beach, Ruth takes off her shoes and socks, and buries her toes in the sand.

"Look, Harry, it's sand. Not that shale crap. Take off your shoes."

"No thanks." He uses his grumpy voice, but he's smiling, and he's happy. If Ruth is happy, then so is he.

Harry stands and watches Ruth as she walks across the sand to the water. When she reaches the water's edge, she kicks the water with her feet, and then turns to give him a wide smile. When she blows him a kiss, he waves back to her, annoyed with himself for withholding the kiss-blowing. By the time he decides that blowing Ruth a kiss might be a nice gesture, she has turned her back, and is wading through the shallows, the water only ankle deep.

By the time she comes back to where he stands at the sand's edge, they have finished their icecreams, and it is already late afternoon.

"I'm a bit cold," Ruth says, snuggling close to Harry.

He doesn't hesitate this time. He wraps both his arms around her, and pulls her close, rubbing one hand up and down her back, while she rests against his chest. It feels wonderful, and Harry could stay there like that for the rest of the evening.

"Let's get some real fish and chips from a real fish and chip shop," Ruth suggests, and Harry nods, smiling. He waits while she puts on her socks and trainers, and then he grasps her hand and together they walk back to the car.

* * *

At Ruth's suggestion, they take the fish and chips home, and eat it in front of the fire with a bottle of white wine. They talk little, enjoying being together, and with no pressure on them, either from work, or from each other. They are half way through their second bottle of wine when Ruth yawns – widely and loudly.

"God, sorry. I'm not used to all this fresh sea air."

"Would you like an early night, Ruth?"

"What do you mean?" Ruth's eyes are bright, as she looks at Harry.

"What I mean is …... I can leave you to go to bed, while I head off to my room. Unless …... unless you want to sleep in my bed, while I sleep out here."

"I'm quite happy out here, thank you. It's nice being so close to the fire."

Harry cleans up the bottles and glasses, and makes them each a cup of tea. While Ruth is in the bathroom, he takes a glass and a bottle of whiskey into his bedroom. Perhaps that will help him sleep. Once they finish their tea, Ruth climbs under her duvet, and Harry leans over to kiss her goodnight. He expects her to turn her cheek to him, but she presents her lips, and he kisses her – a proper kiss, one with the promise of passion.

He knows exactly what he's doing. He is showing Ruth what she's missing out on. He is showing her a little of what they could be. He then picks up his mug of tea from the coffee table, and goes to his room. He is not especially tired, but a couple of whiskeys should do the trick.

* * *

They develop a routine which is comfortable for them, although not terribly progressive in Harry's opinion. Ruth appears to enjoy sleeping on the sofa, and at least with her there, she can get up in the night to keep the fire going. Harry finds that whiskey both sends him to sleep, as well as settling his libido. This is not an ideal solution. It is more of a management strategy, and as such it works.

Since the weather is fine, although cool, they spend the next two days walking – mostly along the beach – and talking. They have never before spent this amount of time in one another's company, and rather than becoming bored with one another, they each find that they look forward to their long walks together, and their nights in front of the fire with a bottle or two of wine.

Harry has shared with Ruth his phone call with the Director General, in which he was informed that his temporary replacement will be Crispin Glass, and so Harry is free to take up to three months leave.

"He's looking to push you out the door, Harry."

"I suspect he is, too. I'm not sure how much I care about that."

"What's Glass like?"

"I don't know him very well. He won't like having Ros as section chief. He belongs to the new wave of the old boys' club. I suspect he's a yes-man, and the DG will love that."

* * *

On Ruth's fourth night at Harry's cottage, the weather breaks. Harry is fast asleep, having nodded off after his third whiskey, when he hears a loud banging from behind the cottage.

"Shit!" he says aloud, sitting up in bed, and looking around him.

Although the curtains are closed over his bedroom window, he can see the occasional flash of lightning, and after a few seconds he can hear the rumble of thunder. The banging out the back and the rattling of the window frames seems to be as a result of the wind, which whips and whines around the cottage.

Harry decides to investigate. He pulls on his trousers and his jacket over his track pants and t-shirt, and pads out of his bedroom, and into the living room, where he silently walks behind the sofa, so as not to wake Ruth. Although the living area is warm, almost toasty, he doesn't want to think too much about how this looks – Ruth being relegated to the sofa, while he gets the comfy bed all to himself. He dearly wants to change this, but doesn't wish to come up against Ruth's infamous stubborn streak.

He walks quickly through the kitchen area, and unlocks the back door, peering outside into the blackness. Suddenly, a flash of lightning lights up the outside, and in that moment, Harry can see that the door to the woodshed has become unsecured. He stuffs his bare feet into his boots, and hurries across to the woodshed, and once inside it, he looks around, his eyes having become accustomed to the darkness. He grabs some logs from the pile nearest the door, and then as he leaves, he secures the bolt on the door. He can only suppose that Ruth had been the last person to gather wood for the fire, and that she had failed to bolt the door. The spook in him looks around warily, just in case there is something else going on here. Another flash of lightning gives him vision enough to hurry back down the path to the back door.

Harry creeps to the wood basket on the edge of the hearth, aware that this movement may wake Ruth, although he's bewildered by how she can still be sleeping through the flashes of lightning, followed by thunder, and then the continual whining of the wind. One by one, he carefully places the logs in the basket, but it is the last one which falls from his arms, and drops to the tiled hearth with a dull clatter.

"Jesus, Harry. You'd make a terrible cat burglar."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Well, I'm awake now. What time is it?"

"I think it's a little after three." Harry has turned from his squatting position to see Ruth lying on her side, looking at him over the top of her duvet, her eyes wide, her hair sticking up. He uses all his self control to remain where he is, and not go to her, and scoop her up in his arms, and take her back to his own bed. "The woodshed door was swinging open, so I had to go out and close it, and I thought while I was there, I'd …..."

"Get some fire wood. That's good. I confess it was probably me who forgot to bolt the door. Sorry."

"It's alright, Ruth. It's locked now." Harry rises to his feet, and begins to turn from her. "I'll wash my hands and get back to bed."

When Harry returns to bed, he leaves his bedroom door open. He's not sure why he does that, but he likes to think that, with the door open, there is no longer a barrier between his sleeping area and Ruth's. So it is with delight that when he is woken an hour later by an especially loud crack, and then rumble of thunder, he discovers that Ruth is in his bed beside him.

"I don't especially like thunderstorms," she says, as he turns to meet her eyes, which are open and afraid. "I think I might need a cuddle, Harry."

"It just so happens you're in luck, Ruth. I'm rather good at that."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: M warning.**_

* * *

Harry slides towards her, and reaches out to her with both arms. Ruth leans into him, and rests her head on his shoulder, her chin on his chest. He very gently wraps his arms around her, remembering the last time he did this – in her cottage kitchen almost four weeks earlier. She'd needed comforting then, too, but this time it is different. Ruth is not crying for her losses, and he is not comforting her while she grieves. She is afraid of the thunderstorm, although Harry suspects she invented that fear in order to get a cuddle from him. He pulls them both back towards his own pillow, and holds her to him, his chin resting on her hair, a stray lock tickling him under his nose.

They stay like that for some time, until Ruth is the first one to break the comfortable silence between them. Another series of thunderclaps have her burrowing into his chest.

"I hope you don't mind me getting into your bed," she says quietly.

"If I minded, I'd need psychiatric intervention."

Ruth giggles quietly, before she presses against him as another thunderclap cracks above the house.

Harry is now officially in teeth-gritting territory.

Their bodies are lying together, their heads, chests, and knees touching. He knows that were she to push her hips any closer, she'd either shriek in horror, or moan in approval. Either way, he'd be sprung. Or, more correctly, his libido would be sprung.

"Why don't you want me, Harry?"

"_What_?"

"I was under the impression, back before I left London almost three years ago, that you wanted me …... desired me."

Harry doesn't know how to answer that. It is one of Ruth's classic curve balls, delivered to reduce a man to a blubbering, inarticulate mess.

"I've been waiting for you, Harry. I've been waiting for you to invite me into your bed." She waits for a few moments. "I've _wanted_ you to invite me into your bed."

"Ruth …..." is all he can say, before he draws his head away from hers, and looks down into her beautiful eyes. "I thought you just wanted someone to replace George, and I'm -"

"I want _you_, Harry. It's always been you."

Harry can barely breathe. He knows he must breathe in before he passes out. His body requires oxygen, so he breathes out heavily before he breathes in. "What are you saying, Ruth?"

Ruth pulls away from him slightly, her brow furrowing, as she stares at him. "So much for your reputation, Harry. I was sure you'd get my message without me having to say a thing."

"My reputation, as you put it, belongs in the past. Apart from a few short-term flings while you were in exile, I haven't looked at another woman for at least five years. I haven't had what could be termed a relationship for well over a decade. _That_, Ruth, is my reputation."

"How short term?"

"What?"

"The flings. How long were your ... flings?"

"Not long. The word fling sounds better than one night stand ..."

"You've …... you've lost confidence."

"Yes …... I have."

"So …... do you still …... desire me?"

Harry again breathes in and then out before he replies, his voice barely more than a whisper. "More than you can possibly imagine."

They each watch the other. Now that their eyes have adjusted to the darkened room, they can see the other quite clearly, and the occasional flash of lightning serves to highlight the facial expression of the other. They are both breathing rather heavily.

Harry knows that the next move must be his. Ruth has done enough. She has risked enough. Now it is his turn to be taking risks.

He leans towards her, not even sure of what he has in mind, but as his face gets closer to hers, Ruth reaches up with her hand, and slides her fingers around his neck until they become entangled in his hair. Harry bends closer to her, and places his lips on hers. They have kissed before. They have kissed goodnight a few times, and each have been careful to not step over the line into intimacy. He feels Ruth's lips part beneath his, and so he allows himself to kiss her with passion and yet even more promise. The kiss is exciting, arousing, head-spinning. He feels Ruth's free hand slide under his t-shirt, and her fingertips glance over the skin of his chest, scraping his nipple in passing.

Harry gasps, and shudders with pleasure. He is already lost. He is unconditionally hers.

Ruth pulls out of the kiss – somewhat reluctantly – and sits up in the bed beside him while she opens the buttons on her pyjama top. The moment her breasts are revealled, Harry's eyes are on them, drinking them in. They are rounded, perfect, as he knew they would be. He leans across to slide her pyjama top from her shoulders, and she takes it from him, and throws it to the floor.

"Your turn," she says, reaching towards him to grasp the hem of his t-shirt. Harry watches her as she lifts the garment, and he lifts his arms to allow her to pull it from his body. She grasps it in one hand, and tosses it behind her to join her own garment.

The room is warm enough for them to sit – both topless – with the duvet level with their waists. Harry wants to touch Ruth's breasts with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and he watches her for some kind of signal.

"What do you want, Harry?" she asks, almost as if she can read his private thoughts.

"I want everything, Ruth …... with you, but …..."

"But what?" Ruth's eyes show alarm.

"You said something when I visited you …... in your cottage. You said you had to work things out …... to get your head straight. I don't want us to be …... doing what we're about to do if …... if you're still unsure …... if you're wanting this out of some kind of displaced grief."

She sits on her side of the bed, watching him, her chest moving with each breath. Harry is still amazed and enthralled by her breasts. He struggles to lift his eyes to hers.

"I did a lot of thinking, and then one morning …... the morning before I turned up here …... The truth is that I didn't wish for George to die …... or for Jo... and that by keeping my distance from you, I'd be hurting both of us, and that won't make anything right. Will it?"

"No. It won't."

They watch one another for a few more moments, until Harry reaches across to again kiss her. This time he is not shy, he is not holding back. The kiss is passionate from the start, and he hears Ruth moan beneath his mouth. His hands are on her breasts, squeezing and exploring, and when he moves his lips to her neck, he feels one of her hands slide beneath the waistband of his track pants. Her fingers slowly surround his cock, and then she grasps him, and he falls back against his pillow with a deep sigh.

Is this happening too quickly? Probably.

Does he care? Not a bit.

Ruth rolls her body on top of his, and he frees his hands from her breasts to hook his thumbs over the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, slowly sliding them over her hips, and down her legs. He allows his fingers to touch the skin of her thighs as he pushes her pants off her, and then he glides his fingertips back up her thighs to her buttocks, where he slides a finger between her buttocks until Ruth gasps. Now it is his turn to remove his track pants. Ruth senses that he is having difficulty coordinating his hands, and she pushes his pants down to his hips, freeing his erection. Watching his face closely, Ruth then leans down and gently takes him in her mouth, her fingers sliding around the base of his shaft. He feels her tongue flick over the tip, and he closes his eyes, and tries to think of something else …... politicians – that should do it. The level of pleasure her mouth is bringing him is exquisite to the point of being torturous.

Harry's hands are on Ruth's shoulders. What she is doing with her mouth, her tongue, is rendering him unable to think, to concentrate, to love her as he'd planned.

"I need to touch you, Ruth," he says, his voice strangled by intense desire. His belly, his balls, his cock, are all consumed by a fire so intense, he is sure he will spontaneously combust.

In response, Ruth grasps his sides, and pulls him with her as she rolls on to the bed beside him. This frees his hands and her body. He slides his fingers down her abdomen, and then he edges them between her legs, gliding his fingers across her folds. Ruth has parted her legs, and there is a low moaning sound emanating from her throat. When he enters her with his fingers, she arches her back, pulling away from him. Harry leans into her, kissing and licking her exposed throat, all the while, feeling a mounting pressure from deep within his groin.

"Ruth," he says his mouth close to her ear, "if we continue in this way, I'm going to come …... and I'd rather be inside you when that happens."

Ruth's eyes open, and she looks right at him – right into him – and then he feels her hands on his sides, as she coaxes him to position himself over her. Harry moves her legs further apart to accommodate his body. Lying over her, taking his weight on his elbows, he takes each of her nipples in his mouth, and sucks on them, and then he kisses his way up her throat, her neck, her chin, and thence to her mouth. They kiss with passion and fervour, each moaning into the mouth of the other, while Harry very gradually pushes himself closer to her warm centre, and Ruth runs her hands over the skin of his back.

"_Now_", she says, lifting her pelvis to meet him.

His head thinks they are moving too quickly, but his body – and seemingly Ruth's body also – disagrees. They come together quickly, gasping loudly as their bodies join for the first time. He has often imagined this moment, and in his private thoughts, it had never been quite like this – deeply powerful and electric ... driven by the compulsion to join. Harry stills all movement, and breathes out slowly, all the while with his eyes on Ruth. They smile at each other, and then he begins to move slowly. They both know they won't last long, but they hadn't expected to.

They both close their eyes as they settle into the rhythm of love-making. Every so often there is a flash of lightning, or a rumble of thunder. _Even nature is joining in,_ Harry thinks. He feels a tightening in his lower body, as tension builds in him. He leans down to take one of Ruth's nipples in his mouth, and he twirls it around with his tongue, and then nips it with his teeth. He empties himself deep inside her just as her muscles tighten around him. He manages a couple more strokes before he sighs and falls on to his elbows, his head resting on Ruth's shoulder.

Once he feels his heartbeat steadying, he rolls on to his side, his arms wrapped around her. They look into each other's eyes, and Ruth caresses his face with her fingers.

"I don't know what to say," she says, and he can hear a faltering in her voice, like she is near tears.

"Are you alright?" he asks, worried.

She nods. "More than. How was that for you?"

"Do you really need to ask?" With their faces so close together, his voice is a whisper.

She nods.

It is when he reads the uncertainty in Ruth's eyes and voice that Harry understands why Ruth had kept him at arm's length, pushing him away the moment they seemed to be getting closer. She has no idea of how alluring she is, how compelling has been his need to be with her, to be her lover. She simply hasn't a clue about the nights he'd spent fighting the drives of his body, trying to push thoughts of her from his mind. Ruth's eyes are shining brightly in the dark as she watches him closely. Harry senses this moment as being as important as what they have just done together, and is aware that anything he says must be completely honest. He continues to return her gaze, and then leans across to gently kiss her cheek. His body is sated, exhausted, and all he wants to do is sleep ... but it is in this highly charged moment, and on his own choice of words that their whole relationship depends.

"I have ... often wondered," he begins carefully, "what it would be like ... when we made love together. Have you?"

Ruth nods, and he smiles at her. So far, so good.

"That was ... well, it was a bit quicker than I'd hoped, but it was ... I have no words, Ruth. It was beautiful, unforgettable ... it was ..."

"It was us," she says quickly, and this time it is he who nods. He knows her eyes have adjusted to the dark, and that she can clearly see him. "I hadn't know it could be like that," she says at last, nestling against him, her head close to his.

"I had. I knew it could. We just had to ..."

"Get into bed together, and that was becoming less likely by the day."

Harry chuckles quietly, and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. Harry had bedded many women in his fifty-five years, and he'd never known that sex could be like it had just been for them, even though he would have preferred had it lasted longer. The level of emotional connection they'd reached has him almost gasping with the enormity of what they have together.

It is in that moment that Harry vows to treasure this woman. He has been granted the privilege of being her partner, and with that comes responsibilities. For a start, what he had allowed to happen to her three years earlier must not be allowed to happen again.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they wake, it is ten o'clock, the storm has passed, and steady rain is falling. Reluctantly, they leave Harry's bed and shower together before they eat. They take over an hour to eat breakfast, and then clean up afterwards. Attaining and maintaining intimacy in the middle of the night with a storm raging outside was rather easy for these two people, each of whom who find it confronting to remove the protective walls which they have spent so long erecting around themselves. In the dull grey light of a rainy morning, they slide around one another, exchanging looks which say far more than words can convey, but never holding the other's eyes for long.

Harry stands at the sink, his hands in soapy water, while Ruth waits beside him with a tea towel. While his attention is on the dishes in the sink, she watches him – the seriousness of his profile, his full lips, his hair, longer than he's worn it in the time she's known him. Ruth suddenly steps close to him, and wraps her arms around his waist, and places her lips on his cheek, before she rests her head against his shoulder.

"What was that for?" he growls against her hair.

"That's for being so wonderful, Harry, and …..."

"And what?"

"And …... I don't know …... loveable."

Harry hesitates before he replies. "I don't think I've ever been described as loveable, Ruth …... not as an adult, anyway. You're probably on your own in thinking that."

Ruth lifts her head to look into his eyes, his pupils dilated, his expression inscrutable. "Now I know why you're sometimes so difficult, and …... grumpy." Seeing Harry's raised eyebrows, she continues. "It's risky for you to be showing your true self to people, isn't it?"

Harry nods slowly, his eyes still holding hers.

"Thank you for opening yourself to me, Harry. I feel priveleged."

"The feeling is mutual, Ruth," and he leans down to kiss her very lightly.

The kiss continues, gently and carefully, and Harry puts his hands – still wet and soapy – on Ruth's waist, pulling her closer to him. He then slides his arms around her, and pulls her against him, resting his cheek against hers. They hug for a long time. No more words are spoken, words being unnecessary. Besides, neither are terribly good with words in a closely personal setting. They each know what the hug is saying. By the time they pull apart, the dish water is lukewarm, and the soap suds have settled.

For another four days and nights, the rain falls steadily, making their beach walks, if not impossible, then unwise. They spend their days talking in a way they have never before talked, and they spend their nights in bed together. They sometimes make love during the day – especially when a kiss gets out of hand – but they prefer the dark hours of the night. They have both been spies for too long, and the anonymity of nighttime allows them to let go in a way neither feel at ease doing during daylight hours.

"Being with you in this way has shown me that I have to draw a line under my time spent in Cyprus."

It is the third morning after their first night together, and they are both still exhausted from having made love after they awoke.

"Does that mean what I think it means, Ruth?"

"I have to go back there. I don't want to, but I must. There's the house George and I owned …... I'll have to arrange its sale. I need to talk to Nico, and to try to explain to him what has happened. There are other things, none of them pleasant."

"Ruth …..." Harry turns on his side, leaning his weight on one elbow, "... do you want me to come with you?"

"No, Harry. This is something I must do alone. It's my mess, and I created it. I have to sort it out myself …... and in my own time."

"When will you go?"

"Soon. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can come home …... to you."

* * *

Three days later, Harry leaves the cottage for a day trip to London.

"It's a dental appointment I've been putting off for months, Ruth. I have to go. I might drop in on Malcolm, as well. You can come with me, if you wish, although it won't be a very exciting day for you."

"I'll stay here. I've barely read anything since we …... began sleeping together. I'd like to spend a lazy day just lying around."

They make love early in the morning of the day Harry is driving to London. They lie naked in one another's arms, waiting for the sun to come up. Harry leaves the bedroom to shower, and then he dresses slowly, and then leans over Ruth to kiss her. She wraps her arms around him, and holds on to him.

"I'll be home tonight, Ruth," he reassures her. "We'll only be apart for twelve or fourteen hours."

Ruth nods, and then reaches up to kiss him.

As Harry is about to open the front door of the cottage to leave, Ruth emerges from the bedroom wearing only her bathrobe, and again puts her arms around Harry, and pulls him against her. He smiles, as he slides his arms around her, leaning in for her kiss. He has to admit to himself that he enjoys being loved as thoroughly as this. It is good for his body, and it is even better for his soul. Here is a woman – an amazing woman, at that – who adores him unconditionally. _This is all anyone needs_, he thinks, as he looks back at her from inside the cabin of his car. _Just love, pure and simple._

As he drives away, Harry briefly looks back at the cottage in the rear view mirror, and he sees Ruth standing in the doorway of the cottage, watching him until he turns on to the road. He imagines her actions are no more than those of a woman parted from her lover for the first time, and he smiles to himself.

* * *

The first thing Harry notices as he drives down the long laneway to the cottage at the end of the day, is that Ruth's hire car is not parked outside. He feels alarm in his body, although his head is telling him there is nothing to worry about. She may have gone into Mablethorpe for supplies. _At 8 pm?_

Inside the cottage, everything is quiet, although the light is on in the kitchen. He quickly walks through the living area, and notes that Ruth's books are no longer piled beside the sofa. The kitchen is tidy, and there are no cups or plates on the sink.

It is in the bedroom that the truth begins to emerge. Harry opens the wardrobe to find that all Ruth's clothes are gone. He stands in front of the wardrobe, one hand holding open the door, breathing deeply to maintain control. He turns to look at the bed they had shared overnight, and in which they had made love, and it is then he sees something on his own bedside table …... something which had not been there in the morning. He moves to pick it up – an envelope with his name on the front. He opens the envelope, and takes out a piece of A4 paper, on which is written Ruth's characteristic scrawl.

_Dearest Harry,_ she begins,

_This is not the way I planned to do this, so I apologise for that. No doubt as you are reading this, you are thinking the very worst. I decided this morning – soon after we woke up – that I would use this opportunity to leave, and to deal with my responsibilities in Cyprus. I didn't want a long and tearful farewell. Had you been present when I left, I may not have had the strength to leave you. (The memory of me leaving you three years ago still haunts my private moments.)_

_I haven't known how to tell you that my visit to Cyprus may take more than a week or two. I expect to be away for more than a month, as I don't wish to return to you until I have finished with that time in my life, and everything which was left unfinished at the time of George's death. This is something I would have found difficult to tell you to your face. I am sorry to be acting in such a cowardly way. I hope I do not disappoint you._

_I need you to know that the last eight days have been the most joyous of my life so far, and I cannot wait to be with you again. I have no doubt that you are the love of my life, and I hope that I am yours. These are words I find difficult to say when I am with you. Neither of us is exactly emotionally open, even with one another. _

_Please don't attempt to follow me. This is something I need to be doing on my own, and in my own way. Be assured that I will return to you, Harry, and as quickly as I can, but I will not return until I am sure that the time I spent in Cyprus is behind me._

_You will not be able to ring me, or contact me in any way. I am leaving my phone in my cottage in Norfolk, and taking a pay as you go phone with me. When I am ready, I will come back to you. Be assured that the person who returns to you will be whole. I do not expect you to be satisfied with having only part of me.  
_

_Your Ruth xx_

Harry reads the letter again. And again. By the third read through, it sinks in. Ruth has gone, and she is coming back, but she can't say when. He is devastated that she has chosen to leave in this way …... and he is angry …... and hurt. His initial instinct is to tear up the letter, perhaps burning the scraps of paper in a kind of ceremonial incineration. He won't, of course. He also recognises that at its core, Ruth's letter is a love letter to him, the first to have passed between them, and so he will keep it safe. Some time – hopefully soon – he will be able to again read the letter, and to feel happiness, rather than pain. He and Ruth have suffered enough.

* * *

When he wakes next day, Harry is happy to see that the rain has stopped, and so he climbs the wooden stairs to the attic, and gathers two fishing rods, and a tackle box, and heads into Mablethorpe to visit a fishing shop.

Following the instructions of the sales assistant in the tackle and bait shop, he purchases bait for cod and whiting, and in the evening, after a restless day spent cleaning the fishing rods, and untangling lines, he heads to Trusthorpe beach, just south of Mablethorpe.

Harry hadn't expected to enjoy fishing from the beach. He'd learned to cast a line when he was a teenager, but standing on the rough sand, dressed for the coldest of conditions, casting a line, and then holding it steady, and then reeling it in, turns out to be the very best therapy for his hurt.

And Harry _is_ hurt, although he doesn't like to admit to it, even to himself. At least Ruth had shared her plans with him before she suddenly left …... but …... but he really wishes she'd trusted herself and him enough to have left when he was home. In his mind, which wanders wherever it likes as he fishes from the beach, he and Ruth still have a way to go.


	6. Chapter 6

By the tenth day after Ruth had left (by which time he'd caught fifty-seven whiting), Harry is prepared to admit that Ruth has been damaged by having to suddenly leave Britain three years ago, and then having to stumble around Europe alone, not knowing whether someone was following her, or whether she'd ever be able to return to Britain. Added to that was the shock of her having witnessed George's death, and being suddenly cut off from contact with Nico. He is prepared to accept that her actions ten days earlier were quite reasonable for her, even though he still feels a kernel of pain deep inside him. He can't expect her to have a lot of faith in outcomes …... or in love. It will be his job to teach her to let go and to trust him completely, and it will be up to him to earn her trust.

So it is that eight weeks after he'd moved to the Lincolnshire cottage, and four weeks after Ruth had returned to Cyprus, Harry decides to pack up and return to London. One week after he moves back into his own house, he returns to work.

After the steady and free rhythm of life in Lincolnshire, he finds that his job is stressful, and does not allow him to take time for himself. Harry finds himself escaping to the roof balcony at least once per day, and it is there that he seeks temporary solace. While there, he conducts silent conversations with the Ruth-in-his-head, asking her advice on this, or on that. It is not the same as actually talking with her, but it's all he has – for now.

It is during one of his visits to the roof that he comes to a decision. It is a decision he should have made some time ago, perhaps when Ruth was gone for those three long years. He should have freed himself to search for her, to bring her home.

* * *

He arrives home quite late at the end of his fifth week back at work. It has been a long day – a long week – and he is overwhelmed by exhaustion. He'd eaten at the George, where the Grid members had gathered – chiefly to welcome Gareth Green to Section D – and so when he unlocks his front door, all he wants to do is to turn on the TV, and relax while he watches the news. He removes his jacket, his tie, and his shoes, and opens the top few shirt buttons, before he slumps down on the sofa with a small glass of whiskey, and watches the world as the public sees it. He has no sooner shaken his head at a particularly unbelievable news item about the potential for rioting on the streets of Oldham, when he allows his body to slump against the cushions at one end of the sofa. Harry is not only tired, he is missing Ruth, and he is wondering how much longer it will be before she is ready to come home to him.

Harry is not aware of having fallen asleep …... not until he hears a noise from the front hallway, which has him opening his eyes, and sitting up, all in one fluid movement. He quickly rises to his socked feet, and creeps to the closed door. He is about to grasp the door knob, when he sees it turning. Some inner voice tells him to be calm, so he takes a step away from the door, and watches as Ruth silently enters the room.

She stands only a foot or two away from him, her hand still grasping the door knob. Harry stands – stunned – his hands by his sides. He wonders is she merely a manifestation of his longing to see her.

"Are you real?" he asks, his voice croaky with emotion.

Ruth smiles and nods, and reaches out to him with both arms. Harry steps closer, and scoops her up, pulling her close to him. They don't kiss. They just hold one another. Harry can feel Ruth's body vibrating with unshed tears, so he pulls her against him and holds on to her tightly. Eventually, they relax against one another, and they set up a slow, but steady rocking. The regular movement is comforting, and they are each in need of comfort.

Harry notices something a little different about Ruth's body. Her curves are still there, but they feel more pronounced to him, more noticeable. He tells himself that it is ten weeks since they have seen one another, held one another, so of course she feels different to him. How could he have forgotten the feel of her body pressed against his?

After an indeterminate amount of time, they disengage from one another. They still don't kiss. Harry is afraid that were he to begin kissing her, they'll end up in bed, and they need to talk before anything else happens between them.

"I've missed you so much, Harry," Ruth says, her voice soft and sensual.

He nods in agreement. "You look wonderful. Your hair …..."

"I've let it grow. In all honesty, I just hadn't the time to visit a hairdresser. I'll have it cut soon."

"No. Leave it. I like it."

He is aware that they are focusing on mundane things because of the enormity of what they still have to address. "Sit down," he continues. "I'll make us some tea." And he quickly leaves the room to make tea.

He is waiting for the pot of tea to brew, when he hears a movement behind him. Ruth has entered the kitchen, and she takes a seat at the table.

"It might be easier to talk in here," she explains, "with the table between us. To be honest, Harry, all I want to do is drag you off to the bedroom, and …..."

"I know. Me too. I've missed you."

"I'm sorry for the way in which I left, Harry …..."

"I know."

Harry places the teapot on the table between them, along with a plate of biscuits. He pours a mug of tea for each of them, and then sits in the chair opposite Ruth.

"I know now that the way I left was wrong."

"Ruth …... it's alright."

"It's not alright. I was -"

"I was hurt when I first read your note, but after a time I understood why you had to leave in that way." Harry sips his tea, but it is still too hot to drink. "I need to know what happened while you were away. We can't …... go upstairs, and -"

"Shag ourselves into exhaustion …..."

Harry looks up at her, and smiles at her use of the colloquialism. "I need you to talk to me, Ruth. I need to know you're all here, and that you've left nothing of yourself in Cyprus."

So, Ruth talks. She talks for almost two hours.

She tells Harry about being thrown out of Thea's house twice, before Thea – George's sister – agrees to listen to Ruth's side of the story. She tells him that after spending almost eight weeks in Cyprus, Thea, and her husband, Christos, had invited her around for a farewell dinner at their house, and that they had wished her well in her new life in England. She also suspects that Thea and Christos were happy to see the back of her, and will be even happier were they to never have to see her again.

She tells Harry how she had visited Nico's school, first approaching the school principal with an offer of money to be spent in whatever way he saw fit. The school principal was open to Ruth seeing Nico, and so she visited him at his school twice a week for the eight weeks she was there. The visits were awkward at first, since Nico blamed Ruth for his father's death. After a few weeks, he began to see that she had been as damaged and hurt as had he, and together they were able to mourn the loss of George, and the life they'd had together. She and Nico agreed to email one another once she returns to England.

She tells Harry about visiting George's grave, and how it was the most difficult task of all. It had been when she was standing at the foot of his grave that she experienced the most guilt. In time, and after spending time with Nico, her guilt – while not having completely disappeared – was soothed, so that it transformed into regret, her chief regret being that she had allowed an innocent man and his child into her very complicated life.

She tells him about putting the house up for sale, and how Thea and Christos had bought it – as an investment property for Nico. She adds that she plans to take her share of the money from the sale, and invest it in a share portfolio in Nico's name.

She tells Harry how, on her way home, she spent two weeks in Greece, just collecting herself, and putting herself back together in preparation for returning home. Each day she'd visit the beach, and swim in the warm sea, a balm for her battered soul.

There is something else she hasn't yet told him, but she is not sure how to broach the subject.

Harry has his own news, which he shares with her.

"Today was my last day with MI-5," he says, once it is clear Ruth has finished talking. "I've retired."

His announcement is met with silence. He's disappointed, because he's been sure she'd approve.

"Say something, Ruth. What do you think?"

"I think …... I think that is almost the most wonderful news I've heard in two weeks."

Harry looks hard at her, his eyebrows knitted, but she doesn't explain herself. It seems there is nothing more they have to tell one another, so Harry gets up from the table, takes Ruth's hand, and leads her upstairs.

"My hold-all is still in the hallway," Ruth says.

"For what I have in mind, you won't be needing clothes."


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: This chapter is M-rated, and is the final chapter, with just an epilogue to go. It gets a little silly, so sorry for that. I figured our couple deserved a laugh.  
**_

* * *

While standing beside the bed, they undress one another. In keeping with their time in the cottage in Lincolnshire, the bedroom remains in darkness, the only light source being the hallway light outside the bedroom. Ruth climbs into bed first, and Harry follows her, and they wrap their arms around one another, and lose themselves in the deepest of kisses, while they each rub their hands over the other's back.

Harry had always loved Ruth's breasts, even before he'd seen her naked. He is sure they are now fuller and rounder. He is gentle with them, and kisses them with reverence, while his hands glide down her body, and he buries his fingers inside her. He sets up a rhythm which matches the speed of her hand on his erection. Ruth has slowly slid her fingers down his throat to his chest, and then over his belly to his cock, slowly stroking him until he is as hard as he can ever remember being. He knows that this is about all the foreplay they will manage on this night. They have been apart for ten weeks – with no contact, not even phone calls or emails – and they each bear a deep hunger which needs satisfying. He is desperate to bury himself inside her, and if her moans are anything to go by, Ruth is equally as desperate for him to be there …... and soon.

"Now?" he asks, watching her face, as she watches him.

Ruth nods, and lifts her hips so that he can more easily enter her. At first, Harry is able to move slowly and steadily, but when he feels Ruth's hips bucking beneath him, and her body contracting around him, he quickly speeds up. He doesn't know why it is, but he is having trouble reaching climax. He reaches down to kiss her breasts, and with his eyes open, he notices something which had not registered earlier. Ruth's nipples are darker, and her areolae are wider and darker than they'd been ten weeks ago. He remembers that when Jane had been …...

The enormity of this realisation sends his body into spasm, and he comes with such force that he is afraid he'll hurt Ruth. His climax seems to last a long time. It is powerful, and very satisfying. Once he is finished, and is settling inside her, he feels her body ripple in yet another orgasm, and she breathes out close to his ear.

"I'd forgotten just how good you are, Harry," she whispers next to his ear.

He turns towards her and smiles. "You're bloody wonderful too," he replies, "but not just because you're brilliant in bed."

Still lying above her, Harry pulls out of her, and away from her body. Holding Ruth close to him, he lies on his side beside her.

"When were you planning to tell me you're pregnant, Ruth?"

Harry is smiling at her, but her face registers shock.

"How can you tell? I'm not even showing yet."

"Your breasts. They're bigger, and I noticed you wince when I went to bite your nipple, which is why I stopped. I remember Jane's symptoms from when she was pregnant."

Ruth pulls a little away from him, so that she can watch him more closely. It appears she is still not sure how Harry is taking the news.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I …... I only found out when I got to Greece, and I went to the doctor. I thought I had food poisoning. While I was in Cyprus, I completely lost track of time, not realising I was overdue."

"So the fact that we'd had unprotected sex for over a week didn't provide a clue?"

"I was worried that you'd be upset."

"Ruth …... do I look upset to you?"

She shakes her head, and forces a weak smile. "You're not just saying that you're pleased? This isn't the afterglow talking, Harry?"

"No, it's not, although this is about the best afterglow I've ever experienced …... in my life." They lay in silence for a few minutes longer. "When were you planning to tell me, Ruth?"

"Oh …... about now. I was planning to wait until we'd finished making love. I know how mellow you are afterwards."

"You thought I'd be upset?"

"I don't know what I thought. All I know is that you've already had a family, and that you may not have wanted to begin another one …... not at …..."

"Not at my age, is what you're trying to say."

"Yes. And you've just resigned from your work. I imagined that the very last thing you'd want would be a crying baby, interrupted sleep, and a tired and stressed-out partner."

"We may not have planned for this eventuality, Ruth, but we didn't _not_ plan it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean …... when we made love that first time …... I had a supply of condoms in the drawer beside my bed …... just in case you turned up, and ….. well …... just in case."

"But we didn't use them."

"That night of the storm, the last thing I was thinking about was contraception."

"What quantity of condoms went unused, Harry?"

"I bought two packets of eighteen."

"You expected to use thirty six condoms! That's rather ambitious of you, Harry. You must have imagined us having it off all day and all night. What kind did you buy?"

"What do you mean, what kind? Do you want the brand name?"

"No. Did you buy ticklers? Coloured ones?"

"One pack of normal, and the other are coloured."

"What colours?"

Harry feels himself reddening with embarrassment. "Neon colours."

As he expects, Ruth falls back against the pillow, laughing hysterically. He smiles at her laughter, because despite his mild embarrassment, he loves seeing her so happy.

"I'm relieved you didn't bring those out. I would have cracked up completely had you tried to put a bright green cock inside me. Just imagine if it glowed in the dark." Ruth again laughs, covering her face with her hands. "Harry and his lightsabre," she adds, giggling.

"I could have bought the flavoured ones, but I thought that might be too tasteless."

Ruth sits up and stares at him, before again collapsing on the pillow. "_Tasteless!_" she wails.

"What would you have preferred, Ruth …... a brightly coloured penis inside you, or a baby?"

Ruth suddenly stops laughing. In an instant, her expression becomes serious. Harry watches her as she plans how to answer him. He only has to wait a minute or two.

"Harry …... I need you to know that I wasn't trying to entrap you with a child."

"I know that."

"And if you don't want this child, then I'll understand. I do understand, and as hard as it will be, I'll go away somewhere, and have this child on my own -"

"Ruth -"

"And if you change your mind some day in the future, and you want -"

"_Ruth!_"

"What?"

"Stop. I want this child, and I want us. I want us to be together …... married, not married, I don't much care …... as long as it's you and me. I want to be there for every day of your pregnancy. I want to be at our child's birth, and to help you bring him up. Then, if Thea and her husband agree, we can invite Nico to stay in his school holidays, and our child can get to know his step-brother."

Ruth's face softens, and she reaches out with her hand to cup Harry's jaw, scratching her thumbnail across his stubble. "You said `he'."

"He, she, it …... I don't care. All I care about is that this little one ….." and Harry slides his hand under the duvet, and places his palm gently on Ruth's lower abdomen, still flat. "This little one was made with love, Ruth. It is an outcome of our love. How can I not want that?"

"Oh, Harry ….."

"What?"

"I really love you."

"And I you, Ruth. And I you."


	8. Epilogue

**_A/N: Thank you to readers and reviewers of this fic (which almost didn't make it to being published). This epilogue is also M rated._**

* * *

Crete - 11 months later - morning:

Harry sits on the beach, looking out to sea. He wears a pair of navy blue swim shorts, and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, open down the front. The Hawaiian shirt was a gift from his wife (and so, despite his reluctance to be seen in it, he feels obligated to wear it occasionally), while the swim shorts he'd bought himself. He rests his forearms on his knees, while he pushes his toes into the sand. It is early morning, and he alone is awake, although out to sea he can see a handful of fishing boats heading back to shore.

The day had begun like many others, with he and Ruth having languid, early morning sex, after which she'd gone back to sleep, while he got out of bed, ate a quick breakfast, and then headed down to the beach to contemplate his life, which he'd never imagined would take the turn it had.

"I thought we'd find you here."

Ruth's voice cuts into his reverie, and he turns from where he sits to see his wife, carrying their baby son, walking across the sand to join him. She plonks herself down beside him, her knee touching his, and Sam, turning towards Harry, leans across, arms outstretched, towards his father. Harry smiles at them both, and then lifts his son from Ruth's arms, and settles him on his lap. Their child was born with dark hair like his mother, but now his second growth of hair has begun, it is blond like Harry's, although his eyes are bluer than the sea, just like Ruth's.

"Good morning, Sam." Harry says in his talking-to-the-baby voice. "Did you have a good sleep, and how was breakfast? What was on the menu, little man?"

From beside him, Ruth smiles as Sam leans towards Harry and clamps his gummy jaws on his father's chin, while his chubby hands grab the skin of Harry's cheeks. "His breakfast menu is always the same, as you very well know, Harry. If our son's first words are `Mummy's boobs', I'll know who to blame."

Harry turns to smile at his wife. "My son and I know what we like, and we both enjoy the same thing."

Ruth leans against Harry's shoulder, and slides her arm around his waist. It is in moments such as these that Ruth would like to call a halt to the passing of time. Their life together is just too good, even idyllic. In the history of her life, times like this don't last. Still …... she's prepared to be proven wrong. "You'll soon have to head off to the market," she says, as she watches Harry playing with their son.

Harry lifts Samuel in the air, and gradually brings him down until their faces meet, and Sam grabs Harry's nose between his gums, and grasps his hair in both fists, and pulls, and they both laugh – the baby's laugh a gurgle, and Harry's a deep, throaty laugh, one which still leaves Ruth's body tingling with desire.

"I know," he replies. "I haven't forgotten. I hope our guests enjoy talking baby talk."

"I've ordered kalamari and as many shrimp as he can spare, and if you don't pick them up by 9, Tassos will sell them."

"Sweetheart, I know that. Do you want me to go now?"

"No, but you'll have to go soon."

"Can I take Sam?"

Ruth smiles at her husband, and reaches across to kiss him, and then her son, who gurgles and dribbles into her mouth. "Of course you can. I know you want to show him off."

Harry pulls Sam away from Ruth so that he can kiss her unimpeded. "Mmm, you've uncovered my ploy, Mrs Pearce."

* * *

Same day – later:

Several people stand around on the patio of the villa, all admiring the view of the Sea of Crete.

"You've landed on your feet rather nicely, Harry," Malcolm Wynn-Jones muses, having taken another sip from his rather large glass of red wine.

"As you know, this is officially Ruth's and my honeymoon, but we're thinking of buying something on Crete. It can be our escape during the English winter."

"And you're closer to Nico."

"That's the idea," Harry replies.

"You are getting so big!" Harry's daughter, Catherine, is carrying Sam, closely followed by Graham, who wants to hold him, but so far hasn't been able to get him out of Catherine's arms. They both step off the patio, and head down the steps to the beach.

"Can you two keep it down?" Harry says, smiling at them. "Ruth needs to sleep a little longer."

"Who can possibly sleep while your two oldest children argue over your youngest?" Ruth has just stepped through the doorway on to the patio. "Besides, I don't wish to miss my own birthday party."

Ruth sidles up to Harry, and he puts out his arm and draws her to his side. She is dressed in a loose-fitting sun dress, and her tanned arms and shoulders glisten under the warm, Cretan sun.

"Happy birthday, Ruth," Malcolm says softly, from where he stands the other side of Harry.

"Thank you, Malcolm." Ruth draws away from Harry, and stands closer to Malcolm, making it easier to receive his kiss on her cheek. "I feel as though I've been forty for about five years now."

"I hope that doesn't mean that life with me is a burden."

"Not all the time." Ruth smiles up into her husband's eyes, and Malcolm catches the intimate glance they share. "Where's Samuel?" she asks.

"I think Catherine and Graham have taken him down to the beach."

"Just so long as they don't teach him swear words," Ruth says with a smile.

"I hope not, too," Harry adds. "I'd like that privilege to be mine."

Ruth gives her husband a playful slap, and he catches her hand in his, and pulls her closer.

"Where shall I put these, Ruth?" asks Nico as he steps on to the patio from the house, holding a large tray packed with Mediterranean snacks – phyllo cheese triangles, meatballs, a cucumber yoghurt dip, and crackers, between which olives are scattered.

"On the table under the umbrella, thanks Nico," Ruth replies.

"You made them all yourself, I suppose, Ruth." Malcolm says, his voice teasing.

"I can make a baby with the greatest of ease, but catering for the multitude is a step too far, I'm afraid."

"I arranged them on the tray," Nico says with a wide smile. He is growing into a tall and handsome boy, and at eleven, it is possible to imagine the man he will one day be.

"Have you thought about what you want to do when you grow up?" asks Malcolm, who already knows the answer.

"I'd like to do medicine. I want to be like my Dad," he says quietly. "And if I don't get the grades for medicine, then I'll have to settle for being a spy …... like Harry." Nico flashes Harry a wicked smile.

"Cheeky bugger," says Harry with affection.

It had taken some months for Nico to even want to meet Harry, but at their first meeting just before Sam was born, the two had hit it off, despite Nico knowing the part Harry had played in George's death.

"This kid weighs a ton!" comes Graham's voice from the top of the steps which lead to the beach. "What are you feeding him, Ruth?"

From close beside her, Ruth feels Harry about to speak. "Harry," she warns, "do not say a word."

Ruth squeezes Harry's hand. From being a man who barely had one son, he now has three. His family is now a source of joy for him, and Ruth could not be happier for him.

* * *

3 days later – early evening:

Catherine is their only remaining guest, and it is her last night with them, Malcolm having flown to Cyprus with Nico, and Graham having left the day after Ruth's birthday party because he had to get back to London for work.

"I'd like to give you both one last gift," Catherine says, her lips pursed in a small smile. "This is your honeymoon, and yet you have your child with you. You need to have a little private time …... time for yourselves."

So, Ruth and Harry take up her offer to remain in the villa to watch over Sam while he sleeps, so that they can go for a skinny dip and `whatever else takes your fancy'. Catherine had explained that the private beach is wasted if they don't skinny dip at least once.

The night is warm, and so Harry throws his clothes in a heap, spreads out their towels, and jogs into the water naked, his buttocks white, while the rest of him is tanned the colour of dark honey. Ruth takes a little longer, but giggles at her husband's gasps as the water reaches his genitals. She slowly follows him in, taking her time to allow her body to adjust to the temperature of the water. Harry reaches out with his hands, and pulls her against him, pushing his hips against her. This is wonderful …... the sea, the sand, the moon …. Harry.

"I should write a poem about this moment, Harry."

"Easy," he says, reaching down to give her a quick kiss.

"_There once was a man down on his luck,_

_Who decided to try for_ -"

"_Harry_! I was thinking more Keats or Wordsworth, not Benny Hill."

"I'll bet Benny Hill had more fun, Ruth."

"That's questionable."

Ruth splashes around in the shallows, while Harry strikes out towards the horizon in a smooth freestyle. She watches him as he swims, the water sliding from his tanned shoulders and upper arms. She feels a yearning in her lower body. They have not made love since the morning of her party, and she longs to feel him – close to her, inside her.

Ruth waits while Harry swims back to her, and then she slides closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Harry smiles knowingly, and when they kiss, they both know where this will end. Ruth feels his fingers inside her, while with his other hand he very gently caresses her breast. She closes her eyes, and revels in his touch.

After her first climax, Harry holds her close to him until she calms. He then takes her hand and leads her out of the water, and up the beach, and then lies her on the towels while he hovers over her. Ruth feathers her fingers over his scrotum, causing him to shudder with pleasure, and then begins the slow journey towards his erection.

"I can't wait, Ruth," he says close to her ear.

"So don't," she replies.

He slides inside her quickly, and then they fuck. There is no other word for it. They only ever fuck when they have not made love for a time, and they are both in desperate need of release. The only exception was the first time they had sex after Sam was born, and then Harry took things slowly and carefully, feeling the need to be gentle with Ruth. This time, they have no need to be quiet. They have no need to be careful and gentle. They both want it fast and deep, and so they each call out when they come, knowing that there is no-one to hear them. When last they saw Catherine, she was watching a DVD on her laptop, her headphones covering her ears.

They lay on the towels together, their sweat mingling with sea water and tears.

"What's wrong, Ruth?"

"Nothing's wrong," she replies, smiling through her tears. "Everything's wonderful. _You're_ wonderful."

By the time they dry themselves, dress, and climb the path to the villa, they are tired, and the villa is in darkness.

"Were we gone that long?" Ruth whispers, as they creep into the kitchen.

"I think that Catherine went to bed to give us privacy."

"Then let's go to bed," she suggests. "Sam will be awake early."

In her room along the corridor from Sam's, Catherine Townsend hears her father and his wife whispering to each other as they head past her door to their bedroom. She'll do anything for Ruth. Anything. She loves her mother dearly, but Jane can be difficult and headstrong. Ruth, on the other hand, has opened her father's heart, motivated him to retire, given him another child, and brought him closer to his older children than he has ever been.

Perhaps marriage and children would not change her life for the worse. Catherine has been keeping Mark at arm's length, assuring him that she is taking his proposal of marriage seriously. She loves him, of course, but she hadn't wanted to take that last step, her parents' marriage leaving her traumatised at the mention of the word.

Now …... she has seen that marriage need not be a battle, a blood bath. Watching her father and Ruth together has given her something to think about. Yes, she'll give it some serious thought. What can be the harm?

_Fin_ (definitely)


End file.
